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Transcriber's Note:
Italicized text is enclosed by underscores (_italic_).
In "Means of Enjoyment" the word "vail" was replaced with "veil"
in the sentence "It seemed as if a veil had suddenly been drawn
from before his eyes."
[Illustration: Title Page.]
WHO ARE HAPPIEST?
AND
OTHER STORIES.
by
T. S. ARTHUR.
With Illustrations from Original Designs by Croome.
Philadelphia:
Lippincott, Grambo & Co.
1852.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by
Lippincott, Grambo & Co.
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of
Pennsylvania.
Stereotyped by L. Johnson & Co.
Philadelphia.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
WHO ARE HAPPIEST? 9
DICK LAWSON, AND THE YOUNG MOCKING-BIRD. 21
THE MEANS OF ENJOYMENT. 60
MAN'S JUDGMENT. 72
WHAT FIVE DOLLARS PAID. 89
LOOK AT T'OTHER SIDE. 97
THIN SHOES. 115
THE UNRULY MEMBER. 131
THE RICH AND THE POOR. 149
INTRODUCTION.
In this volume, the stories are not illustrative of childish
experiences. Most of the actors are men and women,--and the trials and
temptations to which they are subjected, such as are experienced in
mature life. Their object is to fix in the young mind, by familiar
illustrations, principles of action for the future. While several of the
volumes in this series will be addressed to children as children,
others, like this one, will be addressed to them as our future men and
women, toward which estate they are rapidly progressing, and in which
they will need for their guidance all things good and true that can be
stored up in their memories.
WHO ARE HAPPIEST?
"What troubles you, William?" said Mrs. Aiken, speaking in a tone of
kind concern to her husband, who sat silent and moody, with his eyes now
fixed upon the floor, and now following the forms of his plainly-clad
children as they sported, full of health and spirits, about the room.
It was evening, and Mr. Aiken, a man who earned his bread by the sweat
of his brow, had, a little while before, returned from his daily labour.
No answer was made to the wife's question. A few minutes went by, and
then she spoke again:
"Is any thing wrong with you, William?"
"Nothing more than usual," was replied. "There's always something wrong.
The fact is, I'm out of heart."
"William!"
Mrs. Aiken came and stood beside her husband, and laid her hand gently
upon his shoulder.
The evil spirit of envy and discontent was in the poor man's
heart,--this his wife understood right well. She had often before seen
him in this frame of mind.
"I'm as good as Freeman; am I not?"
"Yes, and a great deal better, I hope," replied Mrs. Aiken.
"And yet he is rolling in wealth, while I, though compelled to toil
early and late, can scarcely keep soul and body together."
"Hush, William! Don't talk so. It does you no good. We have a
comfortable home, with food and raiment,--let us therewith be contented
and thankful."
"Thankful for this mean hut! Thankful for hard labour, poor fare, and
coarse clothing!"
"None are so happy as those who labour; none enjoy better health than
they who have only the plainest food. Do you ever go hungry to bed,
William?"
"No, of course not."
"Do you or your children shiver in the cold of winter for lack of warm
clothing?"
"No; but"----
"William! Do not look past your real comforts in envy of the blessings
God has given to others. Depend upon it, we receive all of this world's
goods the kind Father above sees best for us to have. With more, we
might not be so happy as we are."
"I'll take all that risk," said Mr. Aiken. "Give me plenty of money, and
I'll find a way to largely increase the bounds of enjoyment."
"The largest amount of happiness, I believe, is ever to be found in that
condition wherein God had placed us."
"Then every poor man should willingly remain poor!"
"I did not say that, William: I think every man should seek earnestly to
improve his worldly affairs--yet, be contented with his lot at all
times; for, only in contentment is there happiness, and this is a
blessing the poor may share equally with the rich. Indeed, I believe the
poor have this blessing in larger store. You, for instance, are a
happier man than Mr. Freeman."
"I'm not so sure of that."
"I am, then. Look at his face. Doesn't that tell the story? Would you
exchange with him in every respect?"
"No, not in _every_ respect. I would like to have his money."
"Ah, William! William!" Mrs. Aiken shook her head. "You are giving place
in your heart for the entrance of bad spirits. Try to enjoy, fully, what
you have, and you will be a far happier man than Mr. Freeman. Your sleep
is sound at night."
"I know. A man who labours as hard as I do, can't help sleeping
soundly."
"Then labour is a blessing, if for nothing else. I took home, to-day, a
couple of aprons made for Mrs. Freeman. She looked pale and troubled,
and I asked her if she were not well."
"'Not very,' she replied. 'I've lost so much rest of late, that I'm
almost worn out.'
"I did not ask why this was; but, after remaining silent for a few
moments, she said--
"'Mr. Freeman has got himself so excited about business, that he sleeps
scarcely three hours in the twenty-four. He cares neither for eating nor
drinking; and, if I did not watch him, would scarcely appear abroad in
decent apparel. Hardly a day passes that something does not go wrong.
Workmen fail in their contracts, prices fall below what he expected them
to be, and agents prove unfaithful; in fact, a hundred things occur to
interfere with his expectations, and to cloud his mind with
disappointment. We were far happier when we were poor, Mrs. Aiken.
There _was_ a time when we enjoyed this life. Bright days!--how well are
they remembered! Mr. Freeman's income was twelve dollars a week; we
lived in two rooms, and I did all our own work. I had fewer wants then
than I have ever had since, and was far happier than I ever expect to be
again on this side of the grave.'"
Just then a cry was heard in the street.
"Hark!" exclaimed Mr. Aiken.
"Fire! Fire! Fire!" The startling sound rose clear and shrill upon the
air.
Mr. Aiken sprang to the window and threw it open.
"Mr. Freeman's new building, as I live!"
Mr. Aiken dropped the window, and catching up his hat, hurriedly left
the house.
[Illustration: MR. AIKEN'S RETURN FROM THE FIRE.]
It was an hour ere he returned. Meanwhile the fire raged furiously, and
from her window, where she was safe from harm, Mrs. Aiken saw the large
new factory, which the rich man had just erected, entirely consumed by
the fierce, devouring element. All in vain was it that the intrepid
firemen wrought almost miracles of daring, in their efforts to save the
building. Story after story were successively wrapped in flames, until,
at length, over fifty thousand dollars worth of property lay a heap of
black and smouldering ruins.
Wet to the skin, and covered with cinders, was Mr. Aiken when he
returned to his humble abode, after having worked manfully, in his
unselfish efforts to rescue a portion of his neighbour's property from
destruction.
"Poor Freeman! I pity him from my very heart!" was his generous,
sympathising exclamation, as soon as he met his wife.
"He is insured, is he not?" inquired Mrs. Aiken.
"Partially. But even a full insurance would be a poor compensation for
such a loss. In less than two weeks, this new factory, with all its
perfect and beautiful machinery, would have been in operation. The
price of goods is now high, and Mr. Freeman would have cleared a
handsome sum of money on the first season's product of his mill. It is a
terrible disappointment for him. I never saw a man so much disturbed."
"Poor man! His sleep will not be so sound as yours, to-night, William."
"Indeed it will not."
"Nor, rich as he is, will he be as happy as you, to-morrow."
"If I were as rich as he is," said Mr. Aiken, "I would not fret myself
to death for this loss. I would, rather, be thankful for the wealth
still left in my possession."
Mrs. Aiken shook her head.
"No, William, the same spirit that makes you restless and discontented
now, would be with you, no matter how greatly improved might be your
external condition. Mr. Freeman was once as poor as you are. Do you
think him happier for his riches? Does he enjoy life more? Has wealth
brought a greater freedom from care? Has it made his sleep sweeter?
Far, very far from it. Riches have but increased the sources of
discontent."
"This is not a necessary consequence. If Mr. Freeman turn a blessing
into a curse, that is a defect in his particular case."
"And few, in this fallen and evil world, are free from this same defect,
William. If wealth were sought for unselfish ends, then it would make
its possessor happy. But how few so seek riches! It is here, believe me,
that the evil lies."
Mrs. Aiken spoke earnestly, and something of the truth that was in her
mind, shed its beams upon the mind of her husband.
"You remember," said she smiling, "the anecdote of the rich man of New
York, who asked a person who gave utterance to words of envy towards
himself--'Would you,' said he, 'take all the care and anxiety attendant
upon the management of my large estates and extensive business
operations, merely for your victuals and clothes?' 'No, indeed, I would
not,' was the quick answer. '_I get no more_,' said the rich man,
gravely. And it was the truth, William. They who get rich in this world,
pass up through incessant toil and anxiety; and, while they _seem_ to
enjoy all the good things of life, in reality enjoy but little. They get
only their victuals and clothes. I have worked for many rich ladies, and
I do not remember one who appeared to be happier than I am. And I am
mistaken if your experience is not very much like my own."
One evening, a few days after this time, Aiken came home from his work.
As he entered the room where his wife and children sat, the former
looked up to him with a cheerful smile of welcome, and the latter
gathered around him, filling his ears with the music of their happy
voices. The father drew an arm around one and another, and, as he sat in
their midst, his heart swelled in his bosom, and warmed with a glow of
happiness.
Soon the evening meal was served--served by the hands of his wife--the
good angel of his humble home. William Aiken, as he looked around upon
his smiling children, and their true-hearted, even-tempered, cheerful
mother, felt that he had many blessings for which he should be thankful.
"I saw something, a little while ago, that I shall not soon forget,"
said he, when alone with his wife.
"What was that, William?"
"I had occasion to call at the house of Mr. Elder, on some business, as
I came home this evening. Mr. Elder is rich, and I have often envied
him; but I shall do so no more. I found him in his sitting-room, alone,
walking the floor with a troubled look on his face. He glanced at me
with an impatient expression as I entered. I mentioned my business, when
he said abruptly and rudely--
"'I've no time to think of that now.'
"As I was turning away, a door of the room opened, and Mrs. Elder and
two children entered.
"'I wish you would send those children up to the nursery,' he exclaimed,
in a fretful half-angry voice. 'I'm in no humour to be troubled with
them now.'
"The look cast upon their father by those two innocent little children,
as their mother pushed them from the room, I shall not soon forget. I
remembered, as I left the house, that there had been a large failure in
Market street, and that Mr. Elder was said to be the loser by some ten
thousand dollars--less than a twentieth part of what he is worth. I am
happier than he is to-night, Mary."
"And happier you may ever be, William," returned his wife, "if you but
stoop to the humble flowers that spring up along your pathway, and, like
the bee, take the honey they contain. God knows what, in external
things, is best for us; and he will make either poverty or riches,
whichsoever comes, a blessing, if we are humble, patient and
contented."
DICK LAWSON AND THE YOUNG MOCKING-BIRD.
"Dick!"
"Sir."
"I want a young mocking-bird. Can't you get me one?"
"I d'no, sir."
"Don't you think you could try?"
"I d'no, sir. P'r'aps I might."
"Well, see if you can't. I'll give you half a dollar for one."
"Will you? Then I'll try."
And off Dick started for the woods, without stopping for any further
words on the subject.
The two individuals introduced are a good-natured farmer in easy
circumstances, and a bright boy, the son of a poor woman in the
neighbourhood.
As Dick Lawson was hurrying away for the woods, his mind all intent upon
finding a nest of young mocking-birds, and despoiling it, he met a
juvenile companion, named Henry Jones.
"Come, Harry," said he, in an animated voice, "I want you to go with
me."
"Where are you going?" asked the friend.
"I am going to look for a mocking-bird's nest."
"What for?"
"To get a young one. Mr. Acres said he would give me half a dollar for a
young mocking-bird."
"He did?"
"Yes, he did so!" was the animated reply.
"But don't he know that it's wrong to rob bird's nests!"
"If it had been wrong, Harry, Mr. Acres wouldn't have asked me to get
him a bird. He knows what is right and wrong, as well as anybody about
here."
"And so does Mr. Milman, our Sunday-school teacher; and he says that it
is wicked to rob bird's nests. You know he has told us that a good many
times."
"But Mr. Acres knows what is right as well as Mr. Milman, and if it had
been wrong, he'd never have asked me to get him a bird. And then, you
know, he says he will give me half a dollar for a single one."
"I wouldn't touch a bird's nest for ten dollars," rejoined Henry Jones,
warmly.
"I would then," replied Dick, from whose mind the promised reward had,
for the time, completely dispelled every tender impression received both
from his mother, who had been very careful of her child, and his teacher
at the Sunday-school. "But come," he added, "you'll go with me, anyhow."
"Not, if you are going to rob a bird's nest," firmly responded Henry.
"It is wicked to do so."
"Wicked! I don't see any thing so very wicked about it. Mr. Acres is a
good man, so everybody says, and I know he wouldn't tell me to do a
wicked thing."
"I'm sure it is wicked," persevered Henry Jones, "for isn't it taking
the poor little birds from their mother? Don't you think it would be
wicked for some great giant to come and carry your little sister away
off where you could never find her, and shut her up in a cage, and keep
her there all her life?"
"No, but birds are not little children. It's a very different thing. But
you needn't talk, Harry; for it's no use. If you'll go along, you shall
have half the money I get for the bird--if not, why, I'll go myself and
keep the whole of it."
"I wouldn't go with you for a hundred dollars," said Harry
half-indignantly, turning away.
"Then I'll go myself," was Dick Lawson's sneering reply, as he sprang
forward and hurried off to the woods.
He did not, however, feel very easy in mind, although he attempted first
to whistle gayly, and then to sing. The remonstrance of Henry Jones had
its effect in calling back previous better feelings, awakened by the
precepts of a good mother and the instructions of a judicious
Sabbath-school teacher. To oppose these, however, were the direct
sanction of Mr. Acres, towards whom he had always been taught to look
with respect, and the stimulating hope of a liberal reward. These were
powerful incentives--but they could not hush the inward voice of
disapprobation, that seemed to speak in a louder and sterner tone with
every advancing step. Still, this voice, loud as it was, could not make
him pause or hesitate. Onward he pursued his way, and soon entered the
woods and old fields he had fixed in his mind as the scene of his
operations.
An hour's diligent search ended in the discovery of a nest, in which
were two young ones, with the mother bird feeding them. This sight
softened Dick's heart for a moment, but the strong desire, instantly
awakened, to possess the prize for which he had been seeking, caused him
to drive off the old bird, who commenced fluttering about the spot,
uttering cries and showing signs of deep distress. These, although he
could not help feeling them, did not cause him to desist. In a few
moments he had one of the birds safely in his possession, with which he
bounded off in great delight.
"Well, Dick, have you got my bird?" said Mr. Acres, as Dick came puffing
and blowing into his presence.
"Yes, indeed!" returned Dick with a broad smile of pleasure, presenting
the bird he had abstracted from its warm, soft nest.
"You are a fine smart boy, Dick, and will make a man one of these days!"
said Mr. Acres, patting Dick on the head encouragingly. Then, taking the
bird, he toyed with it for a while fondly--fed it, and finally placed it
in a cage. The promised half-dollar, which was promptly paid to the
lad, made him feel rich. As he was about leaving the house of Mr. Acres,
the latter called to him:
"Look here, Dick, my fine fellow, don't you want a dog? Here's Rover,
the very chap for you."
"May I have Rover?" eagerly asked Dick, his eyes glistening with
delight.
"Yes. I've more dogs now than I want."
"He fights well!" ejaculated Dick, surveying the dog proudly. As he did
so, the animal, seeing himself noticed, walked up to Dick, and rubbed
himself against the lad familiarly.
"He'll whip any dog in the neighbourhood," said Mr. Acres.
"And you'll give him to me?"
"Oh, yes. I've got too many dogs now."
"Here, Rover! Here, Rover! Here! Here! Here!" cried Dick in an animated
tone, starting off. The dog followed quickly, and in a few moments both
were out of sight.
"A smart chap that," remarked Mr. Acres to himself, as Dick bounded
away. "He'll make something before he dies, I'll warrant."
The possession of the dog and half-dollar, especially the latter, were
strongly objected to by Dick's mother.
"How could you, my son, think of robbing a poor bird of her little young
ones?" said she seriously and reprovingly.
"But, mother, Mr. Acres wanted me to get him a bird, and of course I
could not say 'no.' What would he have thought of me?"
"You never should do wrong for any one."
"But if it had been so very wrong, Mr. Acres never would have asked me
to do it, I know," urged Dick.
Mrs. Lawson would have compelled her son to take back the money he had
received, if almost any other person in the village but Mr. Acres had
been concerned. But he was well off, and influential; and, moreover, was
her landlord; and, though she was behindhand with her rent, he never
took the trouble to ask for it. The dog, too, would have been sent back
if any one but Mr. Acres had given it to her son. As it was, she
contented herself with merely reprimanding Dick for robbing the bird's
nest, and enjoining on him not to be guilty of so cruel an act again.
About three days after this event, Dick, accompanied by Rover--now his
inseparable companion--met his young friend, Henry Jones, who had with
him his father's large house-dog, Bose.
"Whose dog is that?" asked Henry.
"He's mine," replied Dick.
"Yours!"
"Be sure he is."
"Why that is Mr. Acres's Rover."
"Not now he isn't. Mr. Acres gave him to me."
"What did he give him to you for?"
"For getting him a young mocking-bird."
"I thought he promised you half-a-dollar?"
"So he did; and what is more, gave it to me, and Rover into the
bargain."
"Well, I wouldn't have robbed a bird's nest for a dozen Rovers," said
Henry Jones, warmly.
"Wouldn't you, indeed?" returned Dick, with a sneer.
"No, I would not. It's wicked."
"Oh, you're very pious! But Rover can whip your Bose, anyhow."
"No, he can't, though," replied Henry quickly, who could not bear to
hear his father's faithful and favourite old dog's courage called in
question.
"Yes, but he can, ten times a day. There, Rover! There,
_sck!--sck!--sketch him_!" At the same time pushing Rover against Bose.
Both dogs growled low, and showed their teeth, but that was all.
"Rover's afraid to touch him!" said Henry, a good deal excited.
"No, he is not, though!" returned Dick, his face glowing with interest;
and, lifting up the forefeet of Rover, he threw him full against old
Bose, who received the onset with a deep growl and a strong impression
of his teeth on Rover.
This brought on the battle. Bose was nine or ten years old, and somewhat
worn down by age and hard service, while Rover had numbered but two
years, and was full of fire and vigor. Still the victory was not soon
decided. During the fight, each of the boys entered into the spirit of
the contest almost as much as the dogs. First one would interfere to
secure for his favourite the victory, and then the other, until, at
last, Dick struck Henry; and then they went at it likewise, and fought
nearly as long, and certainly with as much desire to injure each other,
as did the dogs themselves. The result was that both Henry and Bose had
to yield, and then the parties separated, indulging against each other
bitter and angry feelings. But with Dick there was an emotion of cruel
delight at having triumphed over his friend. As he was crossing a
field, on his way home, he met Mr. Acres.
"Why, what's the matter with you and Rover?" the farmer asked.
"Rover's had a fight," replied Dick.
"Ah! Who with?"
"Mr. Jones's Bose."
"Well, which whipped?"
"Rover, of course," replied Dick, with a smile of triumph; "and I can
make him whip any thing."
"You're a keen chap, Dick," said Mr. Acres, patting the boy on the head,
"and are going to make a man one of these days, I see plainly enough. So
Rover whipped. I knew there was prime stuff in him."
"There isn't another such a fellow in these 'ere parts," was Dick's
proud answer.
"But _you_ look a little the worse for wear, as well as Rover. Have you
been fighting, too?"
Dick held down his head for a moment, and then looking up into Mr.
Acres's face, said--
"Yes, sir," in rather a sheepish way.
"Ah! well, who have you been fighting with?"
"With Harry Jones. He didn't want to give Rover fair play; and once,
when he had Bose down, he kicked him."
"And then you kicked him for kicking your dog?"
"Yes, sir."
"That was right. Never permit a friend to be imposed upon. And after
that you had a regular fight?"
"Yes, sir."
"Which whipped?"
"I gave him a bloody nose; and shouldn't wonder if he had a black eye
into the bargain. And what is more, made him cry 'enough.'"
"That was right. Never fight but in a good cause, and then be sure to
whip your man."
"It'll take a smarter boy than Harry Jones to whip me," said Dick
proudly.
"And you think Rover can whip any thing about here?"
"Yes, indeed. And I'm going to make him do it, too."
"You'd better not try him against Markland's old Nero."
"He'll whip him in ten minutes."
"I'm not so sure of that. Nero is a great deal bigger and stronger."
"I don't care if he is. I'm learning Rover a trick that'll make him whip
a dog twice his size."
"What is that?"
Dick called Rover, and the dog came up to him wagging his tail.
"Give us your paw," said the boy, in a tone of authority.
The dog instantly lifted one of his forefeet, which Dick took in his
hand, and began to squeeze gently at first, and then, by degrees, harder
and harder, ejaculating all the while, in a quick distinct tone--"Leg
him! leg him! leg him!" until the dog, from first indicating signs of
pain, began to whine, and then to yell out as if in agony. At this, Dick
dropped the foot, and looked up into the farmer's face.
"Well, Dick, what does all that mean?" asked Mr. Acres.
"I'm learning him to catch hold of the foot," replied the boy.
"The mischief you are!"
"Yes, sir. And when he's fairly up to it, he can whip any dog, if he's
as big as an elephant."
"But can you learn him?"
"I made him catch Jones's Bose by the foot this morning, and it would
have done your heart good to have heard him yell. If he isn't lame for a
month, then I don't know any thing about it."
"There's no fear of you, I see," was Mr. Acres's encouraging reply to
this, again patting Dick on the head.
In about two weeks from that time it was pretty well known through the
neighbourhood that Dick Lawson had given out that he could make his
Rover whip Markland's Nero, a noble animal that had never been matched
by any dog around. Markland's son felt his pride in his dog touched at
this, and challenged Dick to a battle. The time was set, and the place,
a neighbouring field, chosen. Old and young seemed to take an interest
in the matter, and when the time arrived, and Dick appeared on the
ground with his dog, there were assembled, men and boys, at least one
hundred persons, and among the rest, Mr. Acres, who began to feel
somewhat drawn towards his protege Dick.
[Illustration: CRUEL SPORT.]
The two dogs were brought forward by the two lads, whose parents knew
nothing of the affair, and by pushing them against, and throwing them
upon each other, irritated and angered them until they finally went to
work in real earnest, greatly to the delight of the lookers-on. Rover
fought bravely, but he was evidently no match for his larger and
stronger antagonist, who tore him savagely, while he seemed unable to
penetrate Nero's thick yielding skin. The shouts that arose from the
group around were all in favour of Nero, who was a general favourite--as
he was one of those large, peaceable, benevolent fellows, belieing his
name, whom all liked, while there was something of the churl and savage
about Rover, that caused him to have but few friends.
The contest had waged about ten minutes, fiercely, and Rover was
evidently getting "worsted," when Dick, who had been constantly
encouraging his dog, stooped close to his ear, and spoke something in a
low, quick, energetic tone.
Instantly Rover crouched down, and darting forward, seized the forepaw
of Nero in his mouth, and commenced gnawing it eagerly. The noble
animal, thus unexpectedly and basely assailed, found the pain to which
he was suddenly subjected so great as to take away all power of
resistance. He would not utter a cry, but sat down, and permitted the
other dog to gnaw away at his tender foot without a single sign of
suffering. As the cry of pain, the dog's "enough," was to terminate the
battle, the fine fellow was permitted thus to suffer for several
minutes, before the bystanders came forward and pulled Dick Lawson's dog
off. Nero would have died before a sound could have been extorted from
him.
As Nero had not cried "enough," Bob Markland contended afterwards that
his dog had not been whipped, to settle which difference of opinion he
and Dick had several hard battles, in which the latter, like his dog,
always came off the victor. The upshot of all these contests was, the
expulsion of Dick from the Sabbath-school, into which he carried the
bickerings engendered through the week. Another reason for his expulsion
was the frequency with which he played truant, and of his having, in
several instances, enticed other boys away from the school for the same
purpose.
Except Mr. Acres, nearly every man, woman and child in the
neighbourhood sincerely disliked, and some actually hated Dick Lawson,
for there was hardly a family some member of which had not been annoyed
by him in one form or another. But Mr. Acres liked the spirit of the
lad, as well as his thorough independence in regard to the opinion of
others.
This man, who had first thrown temptation into the lad's way, and
encouraged him to persevere in a conduct which nearly all condemned, was
not a wilfully bad man. By most people he was called a good-hearted,
benevolent person. The truth was, he was not a wise man. When young, he
had indulged in such amusements as catching young birds, fighting dogs
and cocks, and attending horse-races, and all the exciting scenes to
which he could get access. But none of these things corrupted him so far
as to make him a decidedly bad man in the community. As he grew up, he
gradually laid aside his boyish follies; saved up his money; bought
himself a small farm, and, in time, became quite a substantial man, so
far as worldly goods were concerned.
Contrasted with himself were several lads whose parents had been
exceedingly strict with them, and who had, as they grew up, shaken off
the trammels of childhood and youth, run into wild extravagances of
conduct, and some into wicked and vicious habits, from which they were
never reclaimed. Comparing his own case with theirs, his short-sighted
conclusion was that boys ought to be allowed as much freedom as
possible, and this was why he encouraged Dick, who was an exceedingly
bright lad, in the course he had been so willing to pursue. He knew
nothing at all of the different hereditary tendencies to evil that exist
in the mind. His observation had never led him to see how two persons,
raised in precisely the same manner, would turn out very
differently--the one proving a good, and the other a bad citizen. His
knowledge of human nature, therefore, never for a moment caused him to
suspect, that in encouraging a feeling of cruelty in Dick Lawson, he
might be only putting blood upon the tongue of a young lion--that there
might be in his mind hereditary tendencies to evil, which encouragement
to rob a bird's nest, or to set two dogs to fighting, by one occupying
his position and influence, might cause to become so active as to
ultimately make him a curse to society.
And such, in a year or two, Dick seemed becoming. He had in that time,
although but fourteen years of age, got almost beyond his mother's
control. His dog and himself were the terror of nearly all the dogs and
boys in the neighbourhood, for both were surly, quarrelsome, and
tyrannical. Even Mr. Acres had found it necessary to forbid him to
appear on his premises. Rover having temporarily lamed, time after time,
every one of his dogs, and Dick having twice beaten two of his black
boys, farm-hands, because of some slight offence. To be revenged on him
for this, he robbed a fine apricot-tree of all its fruit, both green
and ripe, on the very night before Mr. Acres had promised to send a
basket full, the first produced in the neighbourhood that spring, to a
friend who was very much esteemed by him.
Though he strongly suspected Dick, yet he had no proof of the fact, and
so made no attempt to have him punished.
Shortly after, the boy was apprenticed to a tanner and currier, a severe
man, chosen as his master in the hope that his rigid discipline might do
something towards reclaiming him. As the tanner had as many dogs as he
wanted, he objected to the reception into his yard of Dick's ill-natured
cur. But Dick told his mother that, unless Rover were allowed to go with
him, he would not go to the trade selected for him. He was resolute in
this, and at last Mrs. Lawson persuaded Mr. Skivers, the tanner, to take
him, dog and all.
In his new place he did not get along, except for a very short time,
without trouble. At the end of the third month, for neglect of work,
bad language, and insolence, but particularly for cruelties practised
upon a dog that had gotten the mastery over Rover, Mr. Skivers gave him
a most tremendous beating. Dick resisted, and fought with might and
main, but he was but a boy, and in the hands of a strong and determined
man. For a time this cowed Dick, but in the same ratio that his courage
fell when he thought of resisting his master single-handed, rose his
bitter hate against him. Skivers was a man who, if he had reason to
dislike any one about him, could not let his feelings remain quiescent.
He must be doing something all the while to let the victim of his
displeasure feel that he was no favourite. Towards Dick, he therefore
maintained the most offensive demeanour, and was constantly saying or
doing something to chafe the boy's feelings. This was borne as patiently
as possible, for he did not again wish to enter into a contention in
which he must inevitably get severely beaten. Skivers was not long in
perceiving that the way to punish Dick the most severely was to abuse
his dog; and he, therefore, commenced a systematic process of worrying
Rover. This Dick could illy bear. Every time his master would drive
Rover from the yard, or throw sticks or stones at him, the boy would
make a new and more bitter vow of retaliation in some form.
One day, Rover and a large dog belonging to Skivers got into a fight
about something. Dick's interest in his dog brought him at once to the
scene of action. His master, seeing this, ordered him, in a harsh, angry
tone, to clear out and mind his own business. As he did so, he took a
large club, and commenced beating Rover in a most cruel manner. Dick
could not stand this. His blood was up to fever heat in an instant.
Seizing a long, heavy pole, used for turning and adjusting hides in the
vats, he sprang towards Skivers, and giving it a rapid sweep, brought it
with tremendous force against his head, knocking him into a vat
half-full of a strong infusion of astringent bark, to the bottom of
which he instantly sank.
So incensed did the lad feel, that he made not the slightest attempt to
extricate his master from a situation in which death must have
inevitably ensued in a few minutes, but walked away to another part of
the yard. Two or three journeymen, however, who witnessed the whole
affair, were on the spot in a moment, and took out the body of Skivers.
He was completely insensible. There was the bloody mark of a large wound
on his head. A physician was immediately called, who bled him profusely.
This brought him back to consciousness. In a day or two he was out
again, and apparently as well as ever. In the mean time, both Dick and
his inseparable companion, Rover, had disappeared, and gone no one knew
whither. No effort was made to discover the place to which the boy had
fled, as every one was too much rejoiced that he had left the village,
to care about getting him back. About twelve months after, his mother
died--her gray hairs brought down to the grave in sorrow. Year after
year then passed away, and the memory of the lad was gradually effaced
from the minds of all, or retained only among the dim recollections of
the past.
Mr. Acres, who had first placed temptation in the way of Dick Lawson,
continued to prosper in all external things, and to hold his position of
influence and respectability in the neighbourhood. He, perhaps, more
than others, thought about the lad in whom he had once felt a good deal
of pride and interest, as exhibiting a fair promise for the future. But
he never felt exactly easy in mind when he did think of him. Something
whispered that, perhaps, he had been to blame in encouraging his wild
habits. But, then, how could he have dreamed, he would argue, that the
boy had in him so strong a tendency to evil as the result had proved.
He had once been just as fond as Dick had shown himself to be of
bird's-nesting, dog-fighting, &c., but then, as soon as he had sown a
few wild oats, he sobered down into a steady and thrifty farmer of
regular habits. And he of course expected to see Dick Lawson do the
same.
"And who knows but that he has?" he would sometimes say, in an effort at
self-consolation.
It was some five or six years from the time Dick left the village, that
Mr. Acres was awakened one night from sleep by a dream that some one had
opened the door of the chamber where he slept. So distinct was the
impression on his mind that some one had entered, that he lay perfectly
still, with his eyes peering into the darkness around, in order to
detect the presence of any one, should the impression on his mind really
be true. He had lain thus, with every sense acutely active, for only a
moment or two, when a sound, as of a stealthy footstep, came distinctly
upon his ear, and at the same moment, a dark body seemed to move before
his eyes, as if crossing the room towards that part of it where stood a
large secretary, in which was usually contained considerable sums of
money.
Mr. Acres was a brave man, but thus suddenly awakened from sleep to find
himself placed in such an emergency, made him tremble. He continued to
lie very still, straining his eyes upon the dark moving object intently,
until the figure of a man became perfectly distinct. The robber, for
such the intruder evidently was, had now reached the secretary, where he
stood for a few moments, quietly endeavouring to open it. Finding it
locked, he moved off, and passed around the room, feeling every chair
and table that came in his way. This Mr. Acres could now distinctly
perceive, as his eyes had become used to the feeble light reflected from
the starry sky without. At last his hands came in contact with a chair
upon which the farmer had laid his clothes on disrobing himself for bed.
These seemed to be the objects of his search, for he paused with a quick
eager movement, and commenced searching the ample pockets of a large
waistcoat. The slight jingle of the farmer's bunch of keys soon
explained the movement. Before the robber had fairly gotten back to the
secretary, Mr. Acres's courage had returned, and with it no small share
of indignation. He rose up silently, but, unfortunately, as his foot
touched the floor, it came in contact with a chair, which was thrown
over with a loud noise. Before he could reach a large cane, for which he
was making, a heavy blow from the robber laid him senseless.
When again conscious, Mr. Acres found himself still in total darkness.
On attempting to move, there was an instant, almost intolerable pain in
his head, as if from a violent blow. On lifting his hand and placing it
upon the spot where the pain seemed most severe, it came in contact
with a cold, slimy mass of what he at once knew to be blood. His first
effort to rise was accompanied by a feeling of faintness, that caused
him to stretch himself again upon the floor, where he lay for some time
endeavouring to collect his scattered senses. After he had fully
comprehended the meaning of his alarming situation, he made another and
more successful effort to rise. Sitting up in the middle of the room,
and straining his eyes into the darkness, he began to see more and more
distinctly each moment. He was soon satisfied that he was alone. It did
not take long after this to arouse the whole house. An examination
resulted in ascertaining the fact that his secretary had been robbed of
five hundred dollars in gold.
By daylight, the whole neighbourhood was aroused, and some twenty or
thirty men were in hot pursuit of the robber, who was arrested about
twenty miles away from the village and brought back. The money taken
from the secretary of Mr. Acres, was found upon his person, and fully
identified. The man proved to be quite young, seeming to have passed but
recently beyond the limit of minority. But even young as he was, there
was a look of cruel and hardened villany about him, and an expression of
settled defiance of all consequences. He gave his name as Frederick
Hildich. A brief examination resulted in his committal to await the
result of a trial for burglary at the next court.
The day of trial at length came. The action of the court was brief, as
no defence was set up, and the proof of the crime clear and to the
point. During the progress of the trial, the prisoner seemed to take
little interest in what was going on around him, but sat in the bar,
with his head down, seemingly lost in deep abstraction of mind. At the
conclusion of the proceedings, when the court asked what he had to say
why the sentence of the law should not be pronounced upon him, the
prisoner slowly arose to his feet, lifted his head, glanced calmly
around for a few moments, until his eyes rested upon Mr. Acres, whom he
regarded for some time with a fixed, penetrating, and meaning look.
Then, turning to the Bench, he said in a firm, distinct voice:
"YOUR HONOUR--Although I have nothing to urge against the execution of
the laws by which I am condemned, I would yet crave the privilege of
making a few remarks, which may, perhaps, be useful. The principal
witness against me is Mr. Acres,--and upon his testimony, mainly, so far
as positive proof goes, I am convicted of a crime, the commission of
which I have no particular reason for wishing to deny. But, if I have
wronged him, how far more deeply has he wronged me. If I have robbed him
of a few paltry dollars, he has robbed me of that which he can never
restore, either here or hereafter. In a word, your honour, I stand here,
in the presence of this court, and the people of this town, and charge
upon that man (pointing to Acres) the cause of my present condition. My
real name is Richard Lawson!"
As he said this, the prisoner's voice failed him, and he paused for a
few moments, overcome with emotion. A universal exclamation of surprise
passed through the court-room, and there was scarcely an individual
present who did not wonder why he had not discovered this fact for
himself long before. For, sure enough, it was Dick Lawson, and no one
else, who stood there humbled under the iron hand of the law. As for Mr.
Acres, he became instantly pale and agitated--and when the prisoner
again looked up and fixed his eyes upon him, his own fell to the floor,
as if he were conscience-stricken.
"To that man," resumed the individual, at the bar, pointing steadily
toward the farmer, "as I just said, am I indebted for my ruin. A wild,
but innocent boy, he first led me into conscious wrong, by tempting me
with money to rob a bird's nest. The young mocking-bird was procured for
him, but at the expense of a violated conscience; for a voice within me
spoke loudly against the act of cruelty about to be practised upon the
mother-bird and her young. But I stifled that inward monitor, and
stilled the voice that urged me to depart not from the path of
innocence. I saw that the act was a cruel one, and felt that it was a
cruel one--but to be asked to do even a wrong act by a man to whom I
looked up, as I then did to Mr. Acres, was to rob the wrong act of more
than half of its apparent evil--and so I performed the cruel deed, small
as it was, deliberately. From the moment I took the young bird in my
hand, all my scruples were gone, and after that it was one of my
greatest pleasures to rob birds' nests, and to kill the older birds with
stones. My dog Rover, who is no doubt as well remembered as myself, was
given me by Mr. Acres, and I was, moreover, encouraged by that
individual to make Rover fight, and to fight myself, whenever it came in
the way. Had he discouraged this in me; had he told me that fighting was
wrong, his precept for good would have been as powerful as his precept
for evil. He was kind to me, and had gained my entire confidence, and
could have made almost any thing of me. My cruel, tyrannizing temper,
thus encouraged, grew rapidly, until at last I took no delight in any
good. Finally expelled from the Sabbath-school, and persecuted for my
ill-behaviour and annoyance of almost every one, I became reckless, and
finally left this neighbourhood. Five or six years of evil brought me at
last into a strait. I could not gain even a common livelihood. I must
starve or beg. In this state I thought of my corrupter--of the man who
had been the cause of my wretchedness, and I resolved that he should, at
least, pay some small penalty for what he had done. In a word, I
resolved to rob him--and did so. And now I stand here to await the
sentence of the law for this crime."
The prisoner then suffered his head to fall upon his bosom, and sank
slowly into the seat from which he had arisen. A profound and oppressive
silence reigned through the court-room, broken at last by the judge, who
said--
"Richard Lawson, _alias_ Frederick Hildich, stand up, and receive the
sentence of the law."
The prisoner arose, and looked the judge steadily in the face, while a
sentence of imprisonment in the penitentiary for three years was
pronounced upon him in a voice of assumed sternness.
When the unfortunate man was removed by an officer, the crowd slowly
withdrew, conversing in low, subdued voices, and Mr. Acres turned his
step homeward, the unhappiest man of all who had stood that day in the
presence of offended justice.
And here we must leave the parties most concerned in the events of our
brief story--Richard Lawson to fill up the term of his imprisonment in
the penitentiary; and Mr. Acres to muse, in painful abstraction, over
the ruin his thoughtlessness had wrought--the ruin of an immortal
soul--the corruption of a fellow creature, born to become an angel of
heaven, but changed by his agency into a fit subject for the abodes of
evil spirits in hell.
THE MEANS OF ENJOYMENT.
One of the most successful merchants of his day was Mr. Alexander. In
trade he had amassed a large fortune, and now, in the sixtieth year of
his age, he concluded that it was time to cease getting and begin the
work of enjoying. Wealth had always been regarded by him as a means of
happiness; but, so fully had his mind been occupied in business, that,
until the present time, he had never felt himself at leisure to make a
right use of the means in his hands.
So Mr. Alexander retired from business in favour of his son and
son-in-law. And now was to come the reward of his long years of
labour. Now were to come repose, enjoyment, and the calm delights of
which he had so often dreamed. But it so happened, that the current of
thought and affection which had flowed on so long and steadily, was
little disposed to widen into a placid lake. The retired merchant must
yet have some occupation. His had been a life of purposes, and plans for
their accomplishment: and he could not change the nature of this life.
His heart was still the seat of desire, and his thought obeyed,
instinctively, the heart's affection.
So Mr. Alexander used a portion of his wealth in various ways, in order
to satisfy the ever-active desire of his heart for something beyond what
he had in possession. But, it so happened, that the moment an end was
gained--the moment the bright ideal became a fixed and present fact, its
power to delight the mind was gone.
Mr. Alexander had some taste for the arts. Many fine pictures already
hung upon his walls. Knowing this, a certain picture-broker threw
himself in his way, and, by adroit management and skilful flattery,
succeeded in turning the pent-up and struggling current of the old
gentleman's feelings and thoughts in this direction. The picture-dealer
soon found that he had opened a new and profitable mine. Mr. Alexander
had only to see a fine work of art to desire its possession; and to
desire was to have. It was not long before his house was a gallery of
pictures.
Was he any happier? Did these pictures afford him a pure and perennial
source of enjoyment? No; for, in reality, Mr. Alexander's taste for the
arts was not a passion of his mind. He did not love the beautiful for
its own sake. The delight he experienced when he looked upon a fine
painting was mainly the desire of possession; and satiety soon followed
possession.